


Past the Stars on Silver Wings

by fishyspots



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Brief mention of less-than-stellar childhood, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, Post-Canon, Truly don't know how to tag this, kidfic-adjacent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-17
Updated: 2020-06-17
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24777493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishyspots/pseuds/fishyspots
Summary: “Did your dad say how long he would be gone? Because Patrick has today off and I have no idea how to talk to you.”The Roland-spawn squinted up at him, little fingers gripping the green cover of his book tightly.“You’re funny,” Rollie decided.“Thank you.”Or, how David fills his time post-canon.
Relationships: David Rose & Roland Moira Schitt, Patrick Brewer/David Rose
Comments: 76
Kudos: 361





	Past the Stars on Silver Wings

**Author's Note:**

> Well, well, well, if it isn't the fic I've wanted to write but have been too scared to finish. Enjoy these growing pains and family feelings. 
> 
> I know that timeline-wise Rollie can't be as old as I've made him immediately post-canon, but timeline-wise it can't never be winter in SC and also he should have aged at least a little in canon, so...
> 
> Also, I hope I created a realistic kid character! But if you think I didn't, then let me say, as someone who has provided childcare to a variety of kids this age, older, and younger...you can't tell me what to do.
> 
> Title comes from Matilda by Roald Dahl.

As with most good things in David’s life, and to his eternal chagrin, it happened because of Roland.

Roland had blown into the Apothecary first thing one morning, before David’s coffee had fully kicked in and established his presence in the land of the conscious and fully functional. He had muttered something about helping Bob or seeing Ray or starting a fire with Ronnie—David could blame his lack of attention on being pre-caffeine, but he wouldn’t have listened even if he was totally awake—and left, absconding with a bottle of orange juice and leaving his five-year-old offspring behind. 

David blinked and looked again. Rollie was still there.

“Did your dad say how long he would be gone? Because Patrick has today off and I have no idea how to talk to you.”

The Roland-spawn squinted up at him, little fingers gripping the green cover of his book tightly. 

“You’re funny,” Rollie decided.

“Thank you.”

David set Rollie up with markers and paper and started restocking candles.

An hour later, during the mid-morning lull, David gingerly sat down on the couch in the back room, careful to leave space between himself and the Jocelyn-spawn. Who knew what kinds of sticky substances a kid could get into. Worse, this particular kid lived with Roland. The options were practically endless.

Rollie’s pale blue eyes met David’s. “You won’t be able to see the words from over there.” He opened the book that he had brought with him and placed it carefully in his lap. Stubby fingers smoothed over glossy paper. 

“Once there was a tree,” Rollie said solemnly. He wasn’t even looking at the book.

David scooted closer. 

“Do you want to read?” Rollie asked.

“Do you?” David asked.

“I just want to turn the pages.”

That made perfect sense. David held out his hands for the book. Rollie leaned into him as he reached over to turn the page.

“And she loved a little boy,” David read.

Rollie traced the thin lines drawn onto the page. 

“Do you like this book?” 

“I don’t know,” David said. “I’ve never read it.”

Rollie turned the page. “I don’t know if I like it either, but I’ve read it lots,” he said, words starting out slow but then tumbling out all in a rush like he was telling David a secret.

“Well, let’s read it,” David said. 

That was probably too impatient. Kids required a lot of patience. Jocelyn was always saying that, that kids tested her patience.

“Then we can decide together.”

He nudged Rollie’s arm so he would turn the page.

—

David did _not_ like the book. At _all_. If Patrick was there, David would make this opinion very clear. His hands would be cutting through the air, sweeping out and pulling back in as he talked about the spoiled little boy who took and took and thought of no one else, not even his supposed friend. Alexis would probably argue with him, if she were there. Even if she knew he was right. 

But he wasn’t with Patrick. Or Alexis.

“Do your—do you know anyone who likes this book?” He asked. He didn’t want to impose his views on the kid. That had to be frowned upon when speaking to children, too. Patience was good and preaching was bad, he was pretty sure.

Rollie wrinkled his nose. David could practically see the gears turning in his little head. He was a cute kid, if David didn’t think too hard about the Roland of it all. 

“My mom says people should be nice,” Rollie eventually said. “The tree is nice. But the boy is mean.”

 _Thank you_ , David wanted to say.

David nodded. “Thank you,” he said.

“And the tree doesn’t even say anything about the boy being...mean,” David said. He very carefully did not say _being a little b_ , even though he wanted to.

Rollie nodded, eyes serious. 

“And why does the boy even need a boat?” Rollie asked.

“Great point,” David said. It is, after all. “No one really needs a boat.”

Rollie bounced a little on the couch and opened his mouth to say something else, but he turned when the bell over the door rang. 

David blinked. He forgot they were at the store. 

But that was Roland’s voice, and a Roland alone in the Apothecary could only lead to pain. David closed the book, careful not to let any of the pages get bent or creased.

—

David leaned down and put the cast iron pan into the oven. He closed the oven door and straightened. He felt a familiar pair of hands grab at his hips, and he bit the inside of his cheek to hide his smile.

“What smells so good?” Patrick asked, voice low. 

David turned to face his husband. “Chicken with onions and lemon.”

Patrick hummed in approval.

David looked Patrick up and down, from the soles of his ratty old tennis shoes to the top of his black baseball cap, which he was wearing backward. David didn’t understand a single fashion choice Patrick had ever made. 

He loved him.

He leaned in, intent on showing his husband just how much he loved him—the chicken took like half an hour, after all—but Patrick made a noise and pulled back before things got good.

“Jocelyn’s stopping by,” he said, a little breathless.

“You can just say you’re not in the mood,” David grumbled. Still, he moved to put the cutting board in the sink and food scraps in the compost bin.

Patrick laughed, a full belly laugh. He chased after David and kissed his nose. Then he stood on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. David went melty and warm.

“She’s dropping off scripts for the next community theatre show,” he said. “She’s taken the reins again this year and said she’s between eight to ten shows at the moment. Stevie and I are going to offer our two cents.”

David nodded. He wiped down the counter and poured a glass of wine while Patrick tromped up the stairs to change. The third step still creaked. The house was a work in progress.

The step creaked again as Patrick came down. The doorbell rang and Patrick went to get it as David sipped his wine. He’d seen enough people today—he was content to hide out and drink while Patrick talked to Jocelyn about characters and budgets. 

“David!” 

He turned to see Rollie standing at the kitchen peninsula, hanging onto the edge. He wasn’t swinging from the countertop— _thank fuck_ —but he looked like the idea had crossed his mind.

“Hi, Rollie,” he said. He pushed the glass of wine away for the moment. “What are you up to?”

He winced. What a dumb question. What was a good question for a kid?

Rollie didn’t seem to mind. That didn’t mean much, though. The kid was unflappable.

“I learned how to add today,” Rollie informed him.

David hummed. “Two plus two.”

Rollie scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Four.”

David didn’t know what Rollie had learned, but he clamped down on the instinct to tease and pick huge numbers to test the kid. Something told him that wasn’t good for self-esteem. Not that it was David’s job to deal with that.

“Six plus one?” David hoped that wasn’t too hard.

Rollie bounced a little, tiny hands still gripping the counter. “Seven.”

David wasn’t going to patronize the kid with an exaggerated gasp, but. It was still impressive.

“That’s very impressive,” he said.

Rollie preened a little. “Do another one, do another one!”

David tapped his finger against his chin, playing it up just a little. “Five plus three.”

“Eight.”

Something squeezed in David’s chest. This kid. 

“Seriously, Rollie. Wow.”

Rollie was eyeing the barstools tucked under the peninsula. David walked over and helped him up into one. He took a seat in the other and leaned his head on his hand.

“What else did you learn today?”

“We practiced letters. I can write my whole name,” Rollie said proudly.

He should be proud. They sure packed a lot into the education of five-year-olds.

“Want to show me?” David asked. 

Rollie’s lower lip stuck out the tiniest bit.

“You don’t have to,” David said. He wanted to kick himself. The kid had been at school all day, of course he didn’t—

“I _want_ to,” Rollie said. The words were coming fast. “My letters are messy, though, so it’s hard. It doesn’t look good.”

David blinked. 

“That’s okay,” he said. “It gets easier the more you do it. Want to practice? We can do it together. Your mom and Patrick might still be a little while.”

Rollie nodded, looking somewhat placated.

David stood up and hunted down some paper and two pencils.

Rollie had done his name (bashfully accepting David’s praise), David’s name (they had had some issues with the “V,” but Rollie had comported himself admirably), and was putting the final touches on _tree_ when Jocelyn and Patrick walked back toward the kitchen. 

Patrick leaned over the back of David’s chair and hooked his chin on David’s shoulder. 

“Hey, Rollie,” he said cheerfully. He had pitched his voice a little higher, the way he always did when talking to children. 

Rollie had been swinging his feet and talking about apple trees before Patrick walked in, but he was now quiet. 

“Hi,” he said.

David turned. “Rollie was telling me about school today. They learned how to add. And Rollie can write his whole name.”

Patrick nodded toward the fridge, where David had taped Rollie’s best efforts. David felt his ears heating up. 

“He’s smart,” David said. He could hear the defensiveness in his own voice.

“Thanks David,” Jocelyn said. 

David startled a little—he had forgotten she was there. 

“But I’d better get this little genius home for our own dinner. Rollie, say bye, please.”

“Bye,” Rollie murmured, darting a quick look at Patrick. 

He turned his gaze to David. “Do you have a favorite book?”

David nodded, unsure what was happening. “I do. I think you have to be a little older to read it. But I have a lot of favorites from when I was younger.”

“Can we read one soon?” Rollie looked at him, hope in his eyes. 

David was in the _twilight zone_. A kid liked him enough to want to spend time with him. And David wanted to say yes. 

“Definitely,” he said quickly. “We’ll have to go to the library sometime.”

Jocelyn and Patrick were looking between him and Rollie like they were speaking a different language. David would be offended if he didn’t feel the same. 

—

“I just don’t get why he doesn’t like me,” Patrick said, throwing his hands up. He was supposed to be drying the dishes. David grabbed the towel and started wiping down the cast iron. Patrick got so dramatic when he was insecure. David could relate. “I used to babysit my younger cousins all the time.”

“Oh, well if you used to babysit your cousins _all the time_ ,” David said. He bit his cheek to keep from laughing at Patrick. “Did you want to tell Rollie that and see if it will make him change his mind?”

Patrick glared.

“No, I mean it,” David said, giving up the straight face and letting the smile spread. He set the pan down in its cupboard. “I’m sure it’s all a misunderstanding. If you just _told_ him that you used to babysit, then—"

“Okay, David.”

—

Jocelyn started popping up in David’s periphery more often, which was no small feat given the size of Schitt’s Creek and the resultant living-on-top-of-everyone thing they already had going. 

David had taken his lunch break after Patrick, opting to eat at the cafe rather than bringing his sandwich back to the store. He wasn’t too proud to admit that he ate in the vinyl-covered booth across the street partially for a change of scenery but mostly to get away from his husband’s worried eyes.

David’s parents weren’t coming for their scheduled trip in two weeks. And while David totally understood and wasn’t mad— _Sunrise Bay_ reshoots waited for no man, not even one who hadn’t seen his family in almost three months after years of living in each other's pockets—Patrick had been less than understanding.

“I just think they still could have at least come for a day or two,” he had muttered, putting the glass shampoo bottles on the shelf with more force than David was comfortable with. 

“Perils of show business,” David had responded. “And, if my mom is to be believed, you should really be mad at Nicole Kidman.”

David had bumped Patrick’s hip with his own and taken over stocking the breakable product, making a disapproving noise and nodding toward the knit throws when Patrick went for the (also glass, also breakable) bottles of conditioner. 

Patrick had continued to make disapproving noises all morning. 

“Your dad didn’t have to stay in L.A, though,” he said as he rang up a frankly impressive quantity of aromatherapy bath bombs for Twyla’s aunt.

David had just looked at him, unwilling to engage with the ridiculous idea that Patrick wanted a weeklong visit with only his dad, who would not only see them _every morning_ and sleep in their house _every night_ but would probably spend all day in their store without Moira there to distract him. 

So David needed a break. 

But Jocelyn had not gotten the memo. 

“Hi David,” she said, sunny as ever. She slid into the booth across from him and nodded to Twyla. “Usual sandwich, please, Twyla. And mac and cheese to go for Rollie.”

“Hi Jocelyn,” David said, because he had to be polite now, it was like a sickness. Annoying. 

“How’s the store, David?” Jocelyn asked, accepting the iced tea Twyla deposited in front of her with a nod and smile. “Patrick handling it today?”

“Just a lunch break,” David said. He tried to avoid sudden movements and refrained from staring at Jocelyn too openly as he took a hesitant bite of his sandwich.

Jocelyn nodded. She kept nodding.

David didn’t know how much longer he could be the stable one today. The morning with Patrick had already been a lot.

“And you?” He asked. He resisted the temptation to bounce his knee up and down.

“Oh, fine, fine,” Jocelyn was looking at him. Like, _really_ looking at him. She didn’t even break eye contact when Twyla set her sandwich and a to-go bag on the table in front of her. “David.” 

“Jocelyn.”

“Can you watch Rollie tonight?” Jocelyn’s words came out almost too quickly for David to understand. Like mother, like son. She took a breath and tore a bit of crust from her sandwich. “Roland and I have a party.”

She waggled her eyebrows. David braced for a graphic overshare. He very carefully did not ask a clarifying question.

To his dismay, Jocelyn kept talking. “Every now and then we see some _friends_ ,” she said. She tried to wink. God, she was worse at that than Patrick. “And we all get into one big room. Together. It was at our house last month, but this month we have to go all the way to Elm Glen. And it’s usually a long... _visit_. Lots of people, you know, and it takes a while to—“

“I’m free,” David said, mostly to stop Jocelyn from finishing that sentence. He cleared his throat. “But Patrick has baseball rehearsal, so I don’t know if you still—“

Jocelyn cut him off with a wave of her hand.

“Rollie didn’t ask if Patrick could watch him,” she said gently. 

She stood, even though her sandwich was still basically untouched.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” she said. “Dinner is already taken care of.”

She pointed at the bag of pasta and cheese next to her on the table. God, Twyla really needed to get to-go boxes.

David nodded and wondered if he should be taking notes.

“Does six sound okay?” she asked. “It’s just, if we get there much later than seven, then most of the others are already there and then the room is too crowded to—“

“Six!” David said loudly. “Is fine. I’ll be over then.”

Jocelyn beamed at him. 

“See you tonight, David,” she called over her shoulder.

“Wait,” David said, “What time are you coming home?”

Jocelyn waved as she left. The bag was still on the table.

David sighed. “So dinner is not taken care of, then,” he muttered. 

He heard a cackle coming from behind him, so he turned to look.

Ronnie was laughing at him. And she wasn’t bothering to do so quietly; she was openly guffawing in his direction in front of God and Twyla. Like he was Patrick, or something.

David let his head fall onto the table. 

—

Rollie smiled when David showed up to babysit that night. 

David felt something twinge in his chest.

After Roland and Jocelyn had left, David turned from the door to Rollie.

“I brought some books from the library,” David said. He set his bag down on the coffee table.

Rollie was on the bag in seconds, carefully pulling out _The Snowy Day_ and _Rosie Revere, Engineer_. 

David used to love _The Snowy Day_. The children's librarian had suggested the other one. 

Roland turned toward the couch and grabbed a stack of eight books. 

David furrowed his eyebrows. The bookshelf stood against the opposite wall of the living room, far from this stack. Had Jocelyn run out of room on the shelf?

Rollie tried to lift the stack, but the books wobbled and tipped.

David reached out and steadied the stack. He let Rollie guide him to place the books on the coffee table next to his library offerings.

David felt a flush creep up his neck. Of course Rollie would want to pick what to read, he shouldn’t have—

“Do you like to read new books first or last?” Rollie asked. He scrambled onto the couch and tugged down a blanket that had been draped over the back.

David blinked. “First,” he answered. “Then again at the end, if I like them.”

Rollie nodded once. He reached out to grab _The Snowy Day_ and started unfolding the blanket, spreading it over his lap. Once he had settled in, he looked up at David, who was still standing on the other side of the coffee table.

Rollie’s arms wrapped around his little body. He looked down at the book in his lap. 

“Can you read it?” He asked.

David’s traitorous heart gave another twinge.

“Of course,” he said. He sat on the couch and accepted the book. “Can I share your blanket?”

When they started the third book, clearly a well-loved favorite, David felt a warm weight leaning into his side. He bit back his smile and kept reading.

—

“I was thinking my parents could come for a week.” Patrick didn’t look up from the laundry he was folding as he spoke. “My mom said she wants you to give her the grand tour of the store since she hasn’t gotten to spend much time there.”

David shrugged. “Sure. When?” 

He wanted to get back to their conversation about movie snacks. Patrick was still harboring some _very_ incorrect opinions about eating potato chips during movies, as if he didn’t know that popcorn was also a salty, crunchy snack that was even better because you could add butter.

Patrick put down the sweater he was folding. That was okay. David didn’t want to say anything, but Patrick was doing it wrong. Months of training, and he still hadn’t learned.

Patrick turned to face David, squinting at him across a mountain of freshly air- and machine-dried clothes. Both of them were sitting cross-legged on the floor, and David was leaning against the couch. 

David felt his skin heat under the scrutiny. Years of dating and months of marriage, and Patrick’s attention still flustered him.

“What?” He asked, smoothing his hands over a pair of Patrick’s jeans that was folded in front of him.

“Do you want to see family?” Patrick asked. He was still looking at David, _god_. 

“Sure,” David said again. “I like your parents. But it can’t be a weekend where you have baseball every day. I am not signing up for solo entertainment.”

Patrick scooted closer to David. Their knees bumped together. 

“I want you to be happy here.” It’s honest in a way Patrick rarely is. He’s honest, sure—he doesn’t lie to David, _ever_ —but he usually teases and cajoles and jokes his way around sincerity. When Patrick gets like this, when he says what he feels and he’s really brave when he does it, David feels like his heart is burning a hole in his chest. 

“Patrick,” David’s voice trembled, _fuck_ , “I’m happy here.”

“I don’t want you to feel,” Patrick took a deep breath and let it out. “I know you miss your parents and Alexis.”

David patted at Patrick’s knee. He swallowed. There was a knot in his throat.

“I’m happy here,” he said again.

He went into this with his eyes wide open. He knew his parents were leaving. He knew Alexis was leaving. And he still didn’t want to be anywhere Patrick didn’t want to be, even if it was sad sometimes.

David didn’t regret staying. He was happy. It was right.

It could be lonely, sometimes, too.

—

“David! David!” A short but forceful tornado slammed into his knees. “I can count really high now.”

Rollie’s expression didn’t look much different than normal, but he was shifting from foot to foot. David was helpless in the face of his clear excitement.

“Why don’t you show me?” David asked.

Rollie counted to sixty-three. David was suitably impressed.

—

The next time she called, David had to stop himself from telling Alexis a story about Rollie. Not only would she tease him mercilessly for willingly spending time with a child, she would mock his social skills and fake concern that he didn’t have any friends his own age now that she had left.

He had a lot of other things to catch her up on, anyway. It had been two weeks since their last call. David tried not to get all needy and clingy about it—she was starting a new job, and she had just moved a few months ago. It was natural and normal and healthy that she was busy. He’d gone longer without talking to her, anyway. Like that time they hadn’t spoken for eighteen months because she had stolen his hookup at their parents’ Christmas party. So two weeks was nothing. He barely even noticed.

—

Contrary to most people’s beliefs, David had actually been a pretty solitary, bookish kid. His mom had been trotting him out for The Number since he could walk, and he had done enough pageants to permanently put him off of tap, but his parents had left him to his own devices for the most part. 

The most part was...a lot of his childhood, actually. At first, he tried anything to get attention. He screamed down the house with tantrums. He cried when his dad left on business trips and hugged him tightly when he came home. He even tried to follow his mom around for an entire day once. It worked until she shut the door to her wig room in his face and he cried until he threw up. After a while, he got used to his own company.

Sure, he and Alexis took turns annoying each other into spending time together, but she had always been the more social of the two of them. She needed more than she could get from just him. 

Adelina had set up play date after play date for Alexis, and David had curled up in the most comfortable chair in their L.A. house’s library, the one with the blue corduroy that was _hideous_ but also the best thing that had ever happened to him, and spent the afternoons daydreaming himself into all of the stories he read and watched. 

He played make believe, but his ears and neck had always turned bright red whenever Adelina or Alexis or, much more rarely, his father, happened upon him acting out some scene all by himself. He started to let the stories play out only in his mind, while his feet carried him on long walks around and around the backyard or up and down and up and down the spiral staircase. 

Even when he confined his storytelling to the inside of his head, though, his hands always flitted about, conducting and directing scenes in turn. It was the one habit he had never been able to break.

—

“Your dad gave me something for you,” Stevie said. David was sitting on the couch in the motel lobby, Stevie’s feet in his lap.

When she made no move to stand or retrieve his present, David pushed her feet off of him. 

“What is it?” He asked. He wanted to say _gimme gimme_ , but he was an adult, thank you. And Stevie has mocked him for three weeks the last time he said that to her.

Stevie rolled her eyes and stood up. She crossed the lobby and retrieved a bag from behind the desk.

“Before you ask, he did _not_ ask for my input.”

David frowned. “That doesn’t inspire confidence.”

“I mean, I did tell you that your dad, the one who got me a makeup kit and you a basketball hoop, got you a present.”

David fiddled with the handles of the bag. He could feel a smile spreading across his face. It was okay, though. Stevie would only mock him as much as he deserved.

Stevie sat back down and swung her feet into his lap, knocking against the bag. 

“I’m on the edge of my seat, here,” she said, voice flat. But interest sparked in her eyes. 

David reached into the bag and pulled out a knit green beanie. 

He dropped it like it had burned him.

“Ooh.” Stevie leaned down and picked up the soft green monstrosity. “He was talking about how it was almost fall.”

She put the hat back in his hands. He ran a finger along the brim. The yarn was soft to the touch, not scratchy. The color was deep and rich and the yarn was just slightly speckled with white. David wouldn’t have picked it out in a million years. 

His cheeks were wet.

Stevie took her feet out of his lap and pushed him against the arm of the couch. He let out one small, dainty sob. He meant it to be dainty, at least. Stevie’s arms encircled his shoulders and he leaned his forehead against her shoulder.

His dad still couldn’t pick out gifts.

—

“Dave!”

David ducked behind the Apothecary counter. He cursed Patrick and his entire bloodline for getting the flu and abandoning him in their store to be accosted by Roland without backup.

He stood back up. “Roland,” he said, voice filled with what he hoped would pass for cheer, “what can I get for you?”

Roland was fiddling with the candles in the seasonal display. Experience had taught David that if he left Roland to his devices for too long—

He winced at the sound of glass breaking.

He held in his sigh—honestly, what was the _point_ —and turned to get the broom and dustpan from the back room.

He came back out and made quick work of sweeping the glass and wax into a little pile. Roland would usually be cracking a joke by now and making his excuses to leave.

“What do I owe you?” Roland asked, fishing around in his pocket.

David tilted his head. “What?”

“The candle, Dave,” Roland said. 

Fighting all of his instincts, David looked a little closer at Roland. 

“It happens,” David said, hating himself. “It’s not a problem."

“Rollie really likes you.” 

David blinked.

He shifted his weight from foot to foot. He should have known that there was a danger of sincerity in this conversation. Stupid him, always letting his guard down and being subjected to the full force of genuine human emotions.

“He’s a really,” David swallowed. “A really good kid.”

David leaned down and got the mess into the dustpan.

“I know he’s a good kid,” Roland said. “And he likes you. He likes Joce fine. But I don’t think he really likes me.”

David stood still, holding the broom and dustpan. He felt like he was walking on a tightrope. He was pretty sure there was no net.

“I’m sure he—“

“I mean, I know he _likes_ me, like I’m his dad,” Roland said. “But we have nothing to talk about. He talks to you.” 

Roland didn’t say it like an accusation. He said it like he was drowning and he needed David to throw him a life jacket. 

“When I was like nine,” David said, trying not to break out in hives at the idea of sharing a story like this with Roland, of all people, “I wanted my parents to make a Halloween costume with me.”

Roland scoffed. “Dave, Halloween isn’t for months. I think I need something sooner than that if I want Rollie to—"

“Would you just—listen, okay?” David took a breath. “I watched _Clueless_ , like, every day for five months, and I wanted to wear Cher’s yellow plaid suit.”

Roland nodded, as if this made perfect sense. David supposed that it did, a little. 

“I thought it would be perfect. My mom was so glamorous, so I knew she would be able to pick out the perfect fabric. And my dad wore suits every day, so he could tell me how to wear it.“ 

David shook his hands a little, trying to loosen whatever it was that the story was drawing tight within him. 

“I told my nanny what I wanted and she told my parents, and I don’t really know what happened from there, but they bought me the most expensive yellow plaid suit they could find. It had little jewels on the lapels. The edge of the skirt had a little fringe. It was _gorgeous_. It was stupid expensive. And that’s coming from me.”

David had cried for a day when he saw the suit hanging in his closet.

“I didn’t even bother putting it on.”

Roland nodded. “You would have rather had a bad suit if you got time with Johnny and Moira.”

David scoffed. “I would have thrown an _unholy fit_ if the suit was bad, even if I had gotten time with my parents. But we could have made something cute, if not perfect. I would have been happy with good.”

—

The next day, David saw Rollie and Roland through the window of the store. They were walking next to each other. Roland was carrying a stack of library books.

—

Rollie leaned against him every time they read together, now. David almost always did the reading. Rollie _always_ always turned the pages.

David had branched out beyond picture books this time. He wanted to read something he’d read before. A favorite.

It was longer, sure, and they had to stop every so often so that Rollie could ask David a question. But that’s how you’re supposed to read, David thought. Let it all wash over you and don’t worry about what you don’t understand. At least not the first time you read something. Like Hemingway. No one ever understood that the first time. 

“I liked this one,” Rollie said, clutching _Matilda_ to his chest as though he was worried someone was going to tear it away from him.

David recognized the look on his face. The kid was practically radiant, aglow with the feeling of being seen by a book for what just might be the first time.

“Did you have a favorite part?” David asked. He always loved the hot chocolate bit, where Matilda made herself a warm drink and let her book transport her to places unknown. David loved to be transported to places unknown.

Rollie put an arm over his eyes and sighed. David squirmed. He knew that move. 

“It’s just so much,” he said. “Matilda reading made me happy. I liked when they talked about books.”

David nodded. “That’s a really good part.”

Rollie looked down at his lap. He was still leaning against David, even though the book was closed on his tiny lap. His legs were folded up neatly underneath him. 

“Miss Honey was my favorite part,” he whispered, almost too softly for David to hear.

—

Patrick had been looking at him funny. He clearly didn’t think David could see him when he did it, which was ridiculous. David was always watching Patrick. Even when he wasn’t watching Patrick, he was watching Patrick.

It was a look David hadn’t seen on Patrick’s face since the last time David had made bread from scratch, leaving the dough in the refrigerator to prove overnight and getting flour all over Patrick’s sweatshirt because he refused to subject his knits to baking detritus. It was a look that said Patrick was puzzling through some new aspect of David—something he had tucked away either on purpose or by accident that was finally peeking out now that he knew it was safe.

David usually knew why he got this particular Patrick look, but he was at a loss. 

One night, they were laying in bed, the toes of David’s right foot tucked under Patrick’s left shin. David was reading an ebook from the library on his phone and Patrick was wearing his glasses, the ones that made him look like an old man. The lenses were almost circular, and thin silver wire held up the rounded bottoms of the glass. The top rim was made out of chunky black plastic. They were both too strong and too dainty for Patrick’s features. David hated them.

Patrick was ostensibly reading something on his computer screen, but he was really looking at David again, that I-love-you-but-you-might-be-an-alien look. 

David huffed and closed the library app. He jostled Patrick’s leg as he rolled onto his side to face him.

“Something on my face?” David asked, trying to keep his tone light. He trailed a finger along one of his gold rings, still on his hand despite the late hour. He’d been leaving them on longer lately. He worried at the smooth metal and looked into Patrick’s eyes through his dumb, ugly glasses that did his face absolutely no favors.

Patrick shook his head.

David rolled his eyes. His fingers moved faster along his ring. 

“Do you want kids?”

David hated the _specific_ tone Patrick’s voice had taken on. It was the same one he had heard when he had pitched moving to New York. It was the one Patrick had used, tentative and needing, the night after David’s olive branch, his back pressed against David’s chest as they sat together on the couch in the back room of the store and talked through their histories. Patrick used that voice to tell him that he wasn’t out to his parents.

“Do I want _what_ ,” David said. They had already had this discussion. He had thrice talked himself down from various panic attacks to have this discussion with Patrick months before they got married. 

“Kids,” Patrick said, as though that was a normal thing to ask, as though this subject wasn’t going to swirl around David’s head and pull him along with it into a spiral of second-guessing and self-doubt.

“I have made my opinions on children quite clear,” David said, trying to keep his voice level. 

Patrick’s eyebrows pulled down. 

“And nothing’s changed.” He asked. Except it didn’t sound like a question.

“Why would anything change?” David asked, giving up the pretense of calm. His hands sketch twin curving lines in the air. “We’ve been married for three months! That’s barely enough time to change my mind about you, let alone offspring!”

Patrick’s whole face opened up, smoothing out from the carefully neutral expression David hated. His eyes got soft and warm behind his stupid eyewear and the corners of his little mouth twitched up into something sweet and loving and lovely. 

“I thought—Rollie,” Patrick breathed. He sank ever-so-slightly into the pillows behind him.

“Rollie?” David could not catch the thread of Patrick’s logic. “Is Jocelyn pregnant _again_? Because seriously, I know we all know that she and Roland still—I mean. Well.”

David cleared his throat, “That is to say, I don’t think they’re going to get another Rollie. Did you ever meet their other kid, Mutt? He’s like, our age, and he dated Alexis. He lived in a _barn_. Can you imagine?”

Patrick pulled a pillow over his face.

David poked it.

Patrick’s shoulders were shaking a little, and while David could also let the thought of living in a barn bring him to tears if he thought too hard about it, he thought it might be something else. 

“Patrick?” He poked the pillow again. “It wasn’t that bad of a barn. Twyla taught yoga there sometimes. And there were a few parties before you came to town—when string lights are up and there’s free booze it feels a lot less record-scratch-bet-you’re-wondering-how-I-got-here.”

Patrick moved the pillow. David lifted a hand to his cheek to brush away any tears, but Patrick’s face was dry. He was still smiling.

David yanked his hand back. Patrick was laughing at him. 

“David,” Patrick said, still giggling, “I thought. Rollie.”

He waggled his little eyebrows meaningfully. The bridge of his nose was red where his frames dug into his skin. 

“You thought,” David said slowly. “Rollie. Oh. _Oh!_ ”

Patrick nodded once. He was still giggling. It was unfairly cute given how ugly his glasses were and how stupid the conclusions he drew could be.

“I don’t want any of that,” David said. He held up a hand, thinking. “I mean, I like Rollie a lot. I like when he comes by the store. Books. Good.”

David shook his head a little, trying to get words to form sentences in a way that Patrick would understand and stamp into his psyche so that David never had to have a conversation about raising a little gremlin of his very own ever again. 

“But for us?”

David thought about shrill screaming in the middle of the night. He thought about the guarantee of eighteen years of family pressed into his side like Rollie did when they read that first godawful book. He thought about waving goodbye to his parents a few months before, Patrick’s arm tight around his waist and fingers trailing along his back. He thought about Stevie slurring Sarah McLachlan lyrics into his shoulder as he practically carried her up the stairs to her apartment on the night that they put away four bottles of wine between the two of them. He thought about diapers and middle school drama and spending his entire childhood getting the door to the wig room slammed in his face or waving at Alexis from across the room at parties. He thought about his green hat. He thought about how high Rollie could count. He thought that his family was still here in Schitt’s Creek and that he looked wonderful even with his ironic-hipster-meets-old-old-man glasses. 

“I have what I want.”

Patrick sagged like a puppet with his strings cut. For the briefest moment David was worried that Patrick had been hoping for a different answer, but the anxiety didn’t have any teeth. David had spent years parsing and ranking and loving the expressions on the face in front of him, and the look in Patrick’s eyes was clearly one of relief.

“Okay, David.”

Patrick sat up and swung a leg over David. From his position between Patrick’s thick thighs, David couldn’t see anything he’d change. He scolded himself mentally. _The glasses_. He’d change the glasses.

“But for the moment,” Patrick murmured.

His hands ran up David’s arms and settled on his shoulders, rubbing and kneading. He’d been doing that a lot lately—touching David in little ways, grounding him in the place he was standing (or laying, as the case may be), reminding him of the people surrounding him.

“I heard somewhere that you’ve almost had enough time to change your mind about me,” Patrick said, hands tugging at David’s joggers. “I’m going to see if I can buy myself another month or two.”

David stretched up to lick at Patrick’s ear like he liked. “Leave the glasses on.”

—

“Patrick sent me the _sweetest_ little picture yesterday,” Alexis was using her I-know-something-you-don’t voice. That voice never boded well for David, but he was getting to talk to Alexis for the second time in a week, so he decided to let it go.

“Mm hm,” he said. 

“Rollie’s getting so tall,” she said. 

David put an arm over his eyes and sighed.

“He is,” David mumbled. The kid was like a bean sprout. He lowered his arm to glare at his well meaning but so totally on his list husband, who was watching something on the laptop with his headphones in.

“I’m surprised Patrick even had a picture,” he said, a little louder than before.

Patrick’s eyes widened slightly, and he glanced toward David for a second. He froze when he met David’s gaze.

He smiled sheepishly and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. David rolled his eyes. That look shouldn’t work for him as well as it did.

Alexis was still talking in his ear.

“Honestly, David? This is a very cute look for you.” David couldn’t see her, but he would lay money down that she was resting her head on one hand. “And you know I love Jocelyn, but I think Rollie needs someone with taste to help, like, guide him.”

David rolled his eyes. He refused to show his pleasure at Alexis’s words. Patrick was still looking at him, after all.

“Thanks, Alexis,” he said softly. He meant it to come out sarcastically, but he could hear that he’d missed the mark.

“David,” Alexis said. She wasn’t using her ew-David-ugh-David-no-David voice. 

“I know,” David said quickly. He blinked. This was a lot harder when he couldn’t just grab her hand or nudge her shoulder. And it was impossible with Patrick looking at him like that, all gooey around the eyes and fond around the mouth. 

“Enough about all of that,” David said, shaking the emotion out of his head and hands. “You were going to tell me about that tapas place where you got food poisoning.”

Alexis made a delighted little noise. “It was _horrific_ ,” she said, launching into her story.

David leaned into the couch cushion and let her words wash over him.

He wondered if there were any good children’s books about food. _James and the Giant Peach_? He and Rollie would have to check the library. 


End file.
